Battle the Memories
by Narya's Bane
Summary: Every story has a base in reality. A theoretical one who was there remembers the stories, not as we have been told but the way it actually happened.


Disclaimer: I own nothing except the new circumstances and the character relating them. Even those are nothing but whispers in my mind I owe to the great JRR Tolkien.  
  
Rambling Explanation: There are many places good stories come from, yet the most intriguing ring in truth. What is the reason so many of the tales we hear are considered fiction, then? What is their basis in reality? Usually it is assumed the root is in legend, or in the message we gain by listening to them. But what if there was one who knew better? What if some of what we heard is real?  
  
Amy Thingerel set the book down, closing the last page so that no harm would come to the binding of her leather-bound copy of such an important book. Important in many ways, she realized with a smile, especially to her. She reached over, laying the volume on the floor beside her bed and turning off an electric lamp. So different to her, though she'd spent a lifetime with the conveniences she knew now. All so new, and yet familiar through overuse. Almost a hundred years she'd enjoyed this world as it was, yet Amy still found herself amazed at what had been discovered.  
  
Hours later, Amy still could not find sleep. She found her eyes clouded by nightmares and memories from ages long past, brought on and aided by the book she found on her floor. She didn't even turn the light on as she stepped out of bed, over the book, and laid her bare feet on the soft carpet. Her white nightgown flowed behind, soon held in place by a black robe she tossed over it. Silently, Amy stepped into another room of her apartment and sat in a computer chair, moving a mouse to reveal that illusive window. She rarely turned the computer off, so used she was to sleepless nights with the miraculous contraption as her window into the world. Then Amy opened her text editor, brushing locks of her long blonde hair from where they interrupted her vision as it booted up.  
  
There it was, then, waiting at her fingertips. And there she wrote the truth as she remembered it all those years ago. . .  
  
-- ---- --- ----  
  
The Memoirs of Miri Anorian, relic from the Third Age of this world.  
  
Though perhaps I ought to admit I am of another world. I know there is none who will believe me. This is a document that will be read by none, and even if it were most would say it was simply fiction- an alternate universe, if you will. Only I, and I alone, know the truth. That which I relate is true, and I shall relate what happened in the land of Arda all those years ago. Not what you have heard, for those stories are well known- common knowledge to all who exist at a real level of understanding in this land. No, I am here to tell you the sad truth of what you know. You see, I was there all those years ago. And here I do remain.  
  
I am the last of my kind, a faded religion long bereft of any true merit.  
  
Born in the wilds, raised in a city called Minas Tirith, I was the last child given to a man who would be king. He never made it to the throne, so dangerous it was to attempt that claim, and my family remained in the wilderness. But not me- I became a woman of the city, and the friend to great men known as stewards. But this story is not needed, nor is it well known. I have never told my story to anyone, really; it remains enclosed in the mystery of my life. And that which I have seen is given only in tainted answers. But at night, at my most lucid, I remember the truth.  
  
What will concern most of you is the real story of what happened during the War of the Ring, the last battle of the Third Age. And the truth is, nothing you know is factual. It is not true to you, but it is indeed the way in which things occurred. You would not care about what I have seen, or done. You wish to know the real fate of the Fellowship of the Ring.  
  
As it happened for me.  
  
What you have read is true- to a point. When Gandalf fell in Moria, the others were devastated. Yet by the prodding of Boromir- not Aragorn- they were able to leave the mines and continue to the mystical world of Lothlorien. In Lorien, they heard and experienced much as a company.  
  
And in Lorien they left another member of their Fellowship, as Gimli Son of Gloin fell into the trap of love. For the elf-woman Galadriel he forsook his friends, and they were left without his humor and understanding. Yet it is said he found happiness there at the feet of Galadriel, as a servant to the lady of the woods. Celeborn, who in reality was the messenger of many doings in Middle Earth, gladly accepted the help of a dwarf. And so for his love Gimli remained in the sidelines, the first dwarf to offer his services to the elves. And the last, as the dwarves soon went underground for all times. As for the elves...more about their great society later.  
  
Boromir did indeed fall to the arrows of orcs after being taken in, then eluding, the call of the Ring. There is much strength in his family, and he was but the first to go. Yet his also was the most valiant death of the line of Stewards, given for the protection of others.  
  
Gandalf never did return. His place was instead taken by Saruman, who realized the error of his ways and worked for our alliance- yes, our alliance. Through Saruman we were able to accomplish much, including the horrible doings of Grima Wormtongue, who took over where his penitent master left off. Saruman the Great, we called him, though he proved to be just short of true immortality. He sacrificed himself in the end, with the others of the elven rings. Yet again, more on that later.  
  
Aragorn was next, sadly. My brother Aragorn, who fell in the last battle to save Middle Earth. I was fully sad, for he would have made a great king. It was under the heavy might of a troll club he lost his life, and therefore never was honored as the king he might have proven to be. We were never close, both having a wandering nature, yet even so I felt his loss.  
  
Frodo and Sam I am heartbroken thinking of. In the end, Frodo died of a spider bite as many small victims of Shelob's Web. Sam took the Ring into the fires of Mordor, evading that piercing gaze unto the last. Only in the end did he fall to the Evil One, taking the Ring into the fires with him. At least, such is the eagle's report.  
  
Merry and Pippin never fully recovered after hearing of the bittersweet victories gained for Middle Earth. They separated, fulfilling oaths made to countries of men until at last old age took them.  
  
Faramir and Eowyn may be of interest to you all as well. Well, there is a sad story itself. In the end, Eowyn was saved- so too Faramir, for the hands of my brother the King indeed were able to heal many hurts. Yet the news came to Eomer of Rohan too late, and he too perished in battle. So Eowyn went back to Rohan to rule as queen, and Faramir became Prince of Ithilien. They wrote often, professing love for no other. In the end, such affection proved in vain; neither married, but they were buried together in the land of Minas Anor.  
  
I am the Sister of Kings. In the end, rule of Gondor came to my own care. I could not do this job alone, and in the end picked my brother's dearest friend for my husband that I might have companionship, a faithful advisor, and a way to produce heirs for the land.  
  
In retrospect, I might have skipped that last. I was told long ago that the blood of Numenor was strong, and I did not seem to age. This much is true- I didn't age through the years, yet I felt the blood of Kings was still mortal. I might have saved myself much trouble if I had known the truth behind the words...  
  
The time of elves came to an end. The bearers of the Three Rings warned all that the world would change, and that elves would be wiped out in the process. I will never forget holding the hand of Legolas as he passed from this world, in the end simply disappearing as though he hadn't been there. All of the pure elven blood faced a similar fate as the Rings did their job. All blot of darkness, evil, and our time left the face of the Earth. It became what we see know, or at least what it has evolved from since that time. The cycle began again, and I alone led my people from Gondor. I told them to disperse, to be happy in what they may accomplish as separate peoples. They trusted me greatly.  
  
As for me, I have survived. I often wish I hadn't. My heart lies not with he who was my husband- Legolas was simply a companion I expected to have for eternity if necessary; in truth, it was always Boromir I loved. I saw him grow, felt emotion for him all my life. I miss him often, even above my Legolas who gave me my name: Miri Anorian, Jewel of the Sun. ((A/N: I know it may not be right on, but it isn't far)).  
  
So there you have it: the true story of Middle Earth. I have told a version of my stories to many, and seen what those adventures become.  
  
And yet I always told something of a lie. I lie to myself, say that what you have heard is the way it really happened. I sometimes believe it. But it is the middle of the night, and so I see it clearly; in the morning, I should have forgotten the horrors of my life again. Like how I forget my hair is only blonde after lifetimes in the sun, bleached from use and the loss of color. It has long since now stopped truly growing at any normal rate.  
  
And my heart has long since stopped feeling as deeply. Except when I remember the reality of my nightmares...  
  
----- ------ ---- ---  
  
Amy shook her head, looking at the confession at her fingertips. It was exactly as it happened. All she needed to do was see the weathered condition of her favorite things to know it was true. And it broke her heart to remember how it happened.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, to nobody in particular. Then she clicked the exit button on her text editor. . .  
  
(( Do You Want to Save This Document? ))  
  
No hand shook, and nothing faltered as she clicked her answer.  
  
(( Do Not Save )) 


End file.
